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She always came to me at night, in the dark before midnight or early morning. I would awake with a start, and then she would whisper, "Move over, love." and slide in between the sheets.

It was never more than comfort she gave me, her body close to mine. She'd pull the warm blankets back up and tell me, "It was just the wind, go back to sleep." Or, "Just kicked the covers off, don't worry, you were dreaming too hard."

I didn't know when she started coming to me at night, I never knew her name, nor even the color of her hair - the light didn't reflect off of it or her features, no matter how bright the moon or lamp light. Her silky hair would cascade off her bare shoulders, but never gave a clue about her. Even her scent was something very natural, but very intoxicating at the same time.

"Hush, love, " she'd say to me, then curl up behind my back like we were a pair of nested spoons. Her warm body was reassuring, comforting, regardless of the dream or nightmare or lack of them that night.

After she was there for awhile, the mists of sleep would again start to stream across my mind, bringing with them their varying images, scents and sounds - all a chorus in my head, united in a single voice: "Sleep, all is well. Sleep."

By the dawn, there was no evidence she had been there. But I'd sometimes feel the imprint where a small kiss had been left on my cheek before her quiet departure.